I'm sure people have come in and posted stuff that wasn't intended. Can it just be a well written piece about a common gang activity (drive-by, robbery, drug deal, etc)?

Of course it can. Sometimes, simple stories can be really good. If you go back and read Maverick's excellent Irish stories, the main overarc plot is really simple but the writing is intense and the characters are rich.

In fact, you can probably make a good story about anything here in BUYG. Want to make it about an old Triad guy overcoming the digital age of crime? You can! Want to make it about a mob boss slowly losing his grip of his gang? You can!

If I had to give some pointers, I guess just have a well rounded protagonist, interesting characters, good grammar and a good mix of action and character building. Its also a good writing to style to "show, not tell". Basically instead telling the reader something, show it. Don't tell the reader James was scared, say "James pissed his pants" or "James was shaking with fear". If you do all of the above, you'll be getting $40+ in no time.

I'm sure people have come in and posted stuff that wasn't intended. Can it just be a well written piece about a common gang activity (drive-by, robbery, drug deal, etc)?

Of course it can. Sometimes, simple stories can be really good. If you go back and read Maverick's excellent Irish stories, the main overarc plot is really simple but the writing is intense and the characters are rich.

In fact, you can probably make a good story about anything here in BUYG. Want to make it about an old Triad guy overcoming the digital age of crime? You can! Want to make it about a mob boss slowly losing his grip of his gang? You can!

If I had to give some pointers, I guess just have a well rounded protagonist, interesting characters, good grammar and a good mix of action and character building. Its also a good writing to style to "show, not tell". Basically instead telling the reader something, show it. Don't tell the reader James was scared, say "James pissed his pants" or "James was shaking with fear". If you do all of the above, you'll be getting $40+ in no time.

TheDandyManCan

The trick is you're not allowed to use items you haven't bought, so if you don't have an assault rifle, you can't "use" it in your story. An assault rifle can appear in your story but the gang you chose can't shoot it or drive a car you don't own.

Oh. Damn. Well, then, I think I d*cked the dog with Chapter 2; McKay picked up a bat, and.... I remember he huffed it at some guys, but missed. What, uh, should I do about that?

AceRay

The trick is you're not allowed to use items you haven't bought, so if you don't have an assault rifle, you can't "use" it in your story. An assault rifle can appear in your story but the gang you chose can't shoot it or drive a car you don't own.

Oh. Damn. Well, then, I think I d*cked the dog with Chapter 2; McKay picked up a bat, and.... I remember he huffed it at some guys, but missed. What, uh, should I do about that?

Fork over 5 bucks and use baseball bats all you like.Or...Change it to a pole, crowbar, plank of wood, cricket bat, etc anything that's baseball bat shape. Your main character could kill hundreds of people with a tennis racket and it would be okay cause its not an official weapon. Doesn't really apply with guns though; if you want to use any sort of pistol, you'll have to buy the pistol. Melee weapons are simply much more flexible.

The lights are on and the siren's singing. Traffic makes way for the speeding Patrol car, rightfully submitting to the authority of the LCPD. A rarity in this town…

"What time is it?" Jason suddenly asks.

"It's 4 'o clock in the afternoon, why you asking?" John responds.

"Too early for a brawl at the diner" Jason exercises his knowledge, "must be a vehicle theft."

"You sound real funny when you say vehicle." John yet again chooses to ignore Jason's observations and decides to ride on his strong Chinese accent.

"You sound like you from a MeTV rap video, fool." Jason then blares the newly installed rumbler siren, blotting out John's chance at a retort.

Spotting another LCPD car with lights on, they park at Pyrite St and approach the officers inside the parked Patrol.

"Responding to requested assistance at this location." Jason's accent and his serious tone combined stand out from the not-so-serious attitude of the rest of the LCPD. The officer in the Patrol car tries to remain serious as his partner in the passenger side giggles.

"Yeah. Thanks, officer. Anyway, think we got a potential car theft up at the dealership over there." He points to the second floor of the business that is just across the street from where they are situated, "A couple bystanders said the guy has a weapon and is threatening the manager. We've already tried calling him down but he isn’t budging." His partner pokes his head forward and butts in.

"Figure we just call the Rush Hour guys and kick the guy's ass." Laughing at his own joke, clearly thinking he's the first to make it. Jason and John both look at him with their experienced disapproval of the joke. He goes silent and retreats his head.

"With our combined numbers, we can scare him into an arrest." The officer plays peacemaker, doing his best to make sure everyone forgets his partner exists. John acknowledges this.

"Sure, boss. All good with us."

"Let's move." Jason heads the charge. They all stick behind him as they cross traffic and try the front door. "It's locked." John pushes Jason aside and attempts to break the glass door in with his foot. They all join in and look no different than a street gang committing a burglary.

"Seems like you got experience in break ins, pal." The officer's partner notices. Jason, about to make a joke about John’s past, gets a “keep your mouth shut” look from John. He does what he's told.

"To hell with this." John pulls out his sidearm and shoots the freshly webbing glass. A couple of women scream out, crowds move away, traffic speeds up. The officers jump over the shard pile one by one and jog up the stairs shouting for the man's arrest. A sports car engine revs up. John makes it to the top first and sees an awakened Turismo break through the second floor window and then drop out and off from view. A loud screeching thud follows, horns blare from traffic down below. Jason continues to the second floor whilst the other two go back downstairs to their car to make chase.

"Ahgrhh help! Officers!” A man screams out from across the room. They both run over and find a man in a suit on the floor clutching his knee. He is visibly rocking in a stuttered circle, reeling in pain. Jason kneels down and checks his knee. The fabric of the pants covering his knee is stained with fresh blood. Before the officers ask the obvious, the man roughly explains the situation.

“The f*cking asshole wanted the keys to my car. I refused and when he heard you shoot my f*cking door down he sh*t himself an-“ he coughs and catches his breath. Lowering his voice, he continues more calmly, “And started hitting my knee with a steel pipe. I threw him the keys and he took off.” He starts deep breathing and looks to be weeping. The two officers console the man. Calls are made and the usual scene appears: ambulances, cops, news teams, and curious bystanders. Jason and John are already driving away.

“I should have gone downstairs instead.” Jason sulks.

“Man, Jason, you wouldn’t have got him anyway. He had two cop cars after him and he still got away.” John reassures Jason. “Plus, he was in a sports car. Too fast for this sh*t.” Jason speeds up in response. John chuckles at his childish antics. “Hey, are you gonna apply for that airport security job, or are you going to listen to your senses and stick to one job?” John brings up another issue to distract Jason from his current one.

“I’m choosing the one that pays me more.” Jason quips easily, smiling. John laughs and is happy to see his make shift plan to get Jason out of his sulky state worked. He lies back casually, and acting as if he’s already off the job, tunes in the radio to listen to some music. Jason tunes into the police radio in response.

"We have a fleeing suspect at Star Junction" It gets drowned out by the music.

'...bad boys, what'cha gonna do, what'cha gonna do when they come for you…'

They both turn to each other smiling. John hits the lights. Jason hits the accelerator. The city that never sleeps needs a police force that has insomnia. It's got one.

Anyway, I thought this was really good. It introduces two zany funsters and has good flow from a talky bit at the beginning which leads into some nice characters. Grammar was pretty good all ‘round, although consider.

One problem I had was that the two main characters’ names are bit too similar. John and Jason does get mixed up easily and it wouldn’t have hurt to have something a little different.

QUOTE

"Too early for a brawl at the diner" Jason exercises his knowledge, "must be a vehicle theft."

If Jason is exercising his knowledge, why is the next line:

QUOTE

"You sound real funny when you say vehicle." John yet again chooses to ignore Jason's observations

Obviously, if Jason is talking in the first paragraph, why is he insulting John's English in the next paragraph when he didn't say anything. I have a feeling that it was supposed to be John exercising his knowledge. Just something I noticed.

AceRay

And the relief washes over me in an awesome wave, haha! Now I can get serious into making the next episode.

Ha ha, I know how it feels. As I said in the PM, I'll add a bit about a couple of lines that could use better phrasing because its kinda short at the moment. Also, coding is a b*tch.

QUOTE

I could change the names if needed?

If you do, you'll need to PM staff and retrospectively edit the first story's character name, otherwise readers of this will be like "Who the f*ck is this Michael guy". Really, only character has to be changed, like from "John" to "Ron" or something. Honestly though, just try saying John and then Jason and you'll see how confusing it could get.

Miro

Okay, first off all, don't double post, please use the button if you need to add something or remove something from your post.

Now, to post pictures, you need to have the picture on your desktop. Then, you can go to imgur, press "COMPUTER" and find the picture that you need to upload. That's why I recommend you to place it on the desktop, so you could find it by simply clicking at the browsing page on the desktop icon. Then, after you've clicked the image you wanna upload, click "UPLOAD" on imgur. You'll receive after that a code that you need to paste on the forum.

Now, to make the image show as, well, an image, and not a link, you've got to place that code between two IMG tags, like this:

CODE

[img]< imgur link code goes here >[/img]

It'd be also recommended to use the center tags for the picture, so it could look better, like this:

CODE

[center][img]< imgur link code goes here >[/img][/center]

Now, you're talking about boxes, so I suppose that what you're trying to say is the tables. Well, to make a table, read the instructions below:

What are the uses of all those codes?table - Makes a new table, without borders.tableb - Makes a new table, with borders.tr - Makes the rows.td - Makes the columns.th - Title/header, makes it automatically bold.

!!! NOTE !!!Please don't confuse the table tag with the tableb tag. There a huge difference.Also, when you use the (th) tags, you don't need the (tr) & (td) tags. They just use space and don't do anything.One more thing: don't confuse the [] & [/] 'doors' with () & (/)! Once you made this mistake, nothing will work anymore! ALWAYS open the (tr) tag before the (td) tag. And when you close, post the (/td) tag first, and than the (/tr) tag, or things will go crazy!The (table) or (tableb) tags are always opened before the (tr) & (td) tags; and always closed after the (/td) & (/tr) tags.Please remember that I used the () & (/) 'doors' only to explain how the things work. In real, use the [] & [/] tags, okay?

I hope this helps. If you need anything, just ask. Also, take at this BBCode guide, it should help you.

The One Called Vega

I'm going to get back into this. This time, I have a much better plan for my story writing.

Albanian Mob (Chapter I)The moonlight shimmered down upon the dank streets of Broker. Crumpled newspapers drifted through the streets, resembling tumbleweeds in old western films. The air was quiet, and damp. The only sound that could be heard was the distant rustling of the trees that rattled as the wind passed on by. All was calm in Broker, but it all seemed too calm. For a place like Broker to be dubbed as Liberty City's capital for drug trade and arms dealing, calm doesn't fit as an accurate description of such a place. Luckily, ready to fill the void was a small clan of Euro bruisers.

This meager crew of scrappers belonged to a much bigger syndicate of crafty aggressors, known as the Albanian Mob. Though it seems unlikely, the stunted Albanian Mob are actually fierce predators throughout Broker, Dukes and Bohan. The Albanians bear affinity with the likes of owls; hushed during the day, but boisterous at night. Broker is not a safe place during the light hours, but after the fact, it's even worse.

The group of Albanians sauntered down Dillon Street as they puffed on cigars and laughed clamorously at their chieftain, Arben Refui's wisecrack.

"Turns out that the f*cking yokel left his jockstrap at the uncle's house!" Arben exclaimed with an enormous snicker. Each of the four hooted and hollered to the point where they had to take a break in their walk to finish laughing. After their convulsion, they continued walking until they reached their destination.

They arrived at a small hardware store that has been out of business for six full years, but now serves as a front for backroom gambling. The Albanians are always feared whenever they make their presence known at the hardware store. Arben and his boys circled around the back of the gambling den, where they spotted their target shivering with fright.

Arben took a swig from his cigar. "So, tough guy. You have my money?"

Arben's prey was an African American fellow who goes by the nickname of D-Von. His teeth chattered and his sweat was visible, even at this time at night. He played with his thumbs for a brief moment and proceeded to speak. "Uh, about that, uh, money. I was going to, um, you know, give it to you today, but, uh, I've had some problems getting it together."

Arben rolled his eyes and then scratched his scalp. He made a sour puss with his lips. "You piece of sh*t!" he roared. Then, his cell phone began to ring. D-Von breathed a slight sigh of relief for he now may live a few extra seconds. Arben stared at his phone and mumbled, "It's Besnik."

Arben pointed at his lieutenant. "Betim, make sure he knows the sh*t he's in." Betim nodded and gathered up the other two Albanians. They grouped around D-Von and began to pummel him. D-Von shrieked and howled as he received a notorious beating.

Arben answered his cell phone, hoping that the call wouldn't be about his boss, Jetmir Kraja, who was always finding his way into deep trouble. "What is it, Besnik?"

Besnik replied, "Some heavy sh*t went down."

"How heavy?" Arben quizzed as he smirked at the pain D-Von was enduring.

bufu7690

Hi, I am a new user, was browsing the IV section and found this to be a very interesting thread. I would like to be the M.O.B. in Acter. The saga is called "Westside Wars". I am very excited.Territory will start in the west Tudor projects called "Brix City", but will be mostly about territorial expansion up through the "Avenue Corners" of Acter. It might be a little bit til I post my first story, because I'll be proofreading a decent amount to get the content and presentation correct. Hope you enjoy.

bufu7690

“What’s up Big Guy?” The man exclaimed with joy across the dimly-lit, loosely-populated room, as he entered and locked eyes with the bartender. He moved with the cautious courage of a roughneck, which is characteristic of the Westside players in this bar. He wasn’t old, but he has been through much in his time. The uplifting look on his face today, however, indicated that his past was far from a concern, and he was just glad to be where he was. As for the future, none of these old souls ever took that for granted.

“Oh whoa. Eggy, what’s good!? They actually let you out? Damn, society’s a trip.” The Big Guy replied sarcastically with a slight grin on his face. He was, understandably, a larger heavyset man, but his presence behind the bar made him a much less imposing figure than his reputation would suggest. The Big Guy was obliged to fill this role as a legitimate businessman, out of respect for the previous owner who met an undeserved, but long overdue, death. This gave the Big Guy opportunity to diverge from the previous path of force that people of their lifestyle were compelled to follow. Though the Big Guy was preoccupied with pouring a beer and collecting money from another patron, his face signaled that he was also happy for Eggy to be here, in this small hole-in-the-wall establishment on lower Bear Street in Berchem.

There was no sign out front, and there didn’t need to be. If someone had just happened upon this location and decided to come in for a drink, they were automatically out-of-place. In fact, stumbling upon this whole neighborhood and its back alleys used to be dangerous, but redevelopment and gentrification is changing that atmosphere very quickly. Many new businesses are thriving and residential buildings being fixed up, prompting a newer, more prosperous class of people to occupy the territory. This relic of a bar remains as a testament to the customers who have survived long enough to keep frequenting this bar. In bars like these, you demanded respect for the simple fact that you were still around. And if you didn’t know the other patrons well enough to shake hands and do business, you at least knew them by reputation.

“Yeah, you know the whole system’s messed up, from the bottom up. Everybody’s going at it in the streets. Police be locking everybody and they mamas up.” Eggy preached loudly as he made his way from the door to the bar. He drew minimal reactions from the crowd, for his perspectives and situation were nothing new to those present to hear him. Eggy merely amplified his tone to match his mood and the state’s current situation. “Prisons can’t hold every gun-toting goon now can they? While politicians always making the wrong moves and ain’t fixing nothing.” By this time, he was close enough to the bar to speak in a tone where only the Big Guy could hear. “It’s all just a game, and we all getting played.”

They both chuckled as the Big Guy put some small change in the register. He then turned to shake Eggy’s hand in a familiar manner and agreed, “It is what it is. Streets been hot. Can’t even tell you if it was worse back before you went in, or nowadays. How long were you in for, by the way? I just know it’s been a good minute since I seen you.” The sound of the Big Guy setting down shot glasses on the table alerted Eggy as to what was next.

“Three years, but it was out of five. Had the iron on me when they pulled me over.”

“And with your record…” The Big Guy trailed of as he reached for the Cooper Regal cognac on the top shelf and began to pour.

“…Can’t even complain. Like I said, revolving door. Especially with Westside being so hot recently. We can even feel that sh!t in lockup. Dodged a few bullets just being in there I guess. But it sure is nice being out here in the open, stretching and moving my arms around without some soldier thinking I’m swinging on him.” He said, rotating his shoulders. This little reflection by Eggy was enough time for the Big Guy to pour two shots and a tall draft of fine Logger and set them in front of Eggy.

“No Pisswasser for you tonight. Cheers.” The Big Guy toasted, and they tossed their shots back. Before Eggy had the chance to react by offering money, the Big Guy preemptively interrupted Eggy’s payment by handing him his drink and pointing him to the reason he strolled into this bar. “Anyway, Early Boyd’s been waiting for you. End of the bar, as usual, even though he don’t come around as often!” The Big Guy said, looking at the individual sitting alone at the end of the bar. His face was hidden in the shadows, which were at their darkest in that very corner of the room, fairly isolated from nearest group of people. The Big Guy said that last part loud enough for the patron to noticeably react, although he had been aware of Eggy since he walked in.

“Good seeing you man” Eggy said, shaking the Big Guy’s hand once more. Eggy then walked briskly towards the end of the bar for a warm greeting. “Er-LAY!” Eggy exclaimed as Early Boyd got off his barstool to properly embrace his old friend and running mate. “You’re looking well. How’s everything, homie?” In the light, the most noticeable thing about Early Boyd is his scarred face. For familiar eyes, however, the light illuminated his enlightened expression, making it evident that he had recently been actively reducing the worries in his life.

“For me, it’s as good as it could be. It’s hard times out here though.” Early Boyd said distantly. He was never one to use too many words, but he always got his point across. On the same note, he raised his hand, to have Big Guy instantaneously pop up with another pitcher of Beikenhen. “How you living though, soldier? Looking pretty diesel, must’ve been putting that time in there to good use.”

“Lifting and reading, you know how it goes. Sharpening my physical and my mental, with that Banchiavelli and Gun Tzu.” Eggy said very matter-of-factly. They both treated his time in the pen as if they were only a few days out of the year, talking business and picking up right where they left off. “Of course, M.O.B. business and the occasional scrap, but not even that really. Drugs be flooding the whole penal system, so even hitters and long-bidders stay doped out of their minds. It’s crazy, but it’s how they be keeping it chill in there too. Race beef heating up, Westside/Eastside beef, not so much. But all that aside for now, how’s the kid? Man, I remember little man not even being as big as your arm.”

“He’s real good. An energetic young buck, three years old now. He be outside a lot, you know. Take him everwhere I go, making sure he familiar with Westside.” He spoke as though these memories were much older than his son. “He’s starting to act wild now and all that. Must be something in the drinking water.”

Eggy laughed. “It must be, homie, it must be. Seems like everybody around the way be acting up.”

“You don’t know the half of it, brother. I can’t even begin to tell you, being three years removed from the action. Older outfits keep getting pushed outwards by these young crews. And teams of wildboys and hitters of all sorts getting thrown into the mix. Even those whiteboys on bikes, teaming up with young’ns to pump out these new drugs that the whole state be on. Westside so cutthroat with that beef that n!gas even collaborating with Eastside on the money tip.” Upon hearing the Acter area dichotomy, Eggy reacted instinctively by lifting his hand over his face, with crossed middle and ring fingers. “Hard to trust an Eastsider, but the bigger problem is Westside gunners always coming for anything you be sitting on. Westside is a killing field, not much respect for anything with these young’ns.” This prompted Eggy to lower his Westside hand sign, which was then followed by a rare silence from Eggy, as he needed all of his mental faculties to take in all of this information.

“But….”

“Listen, like I said, I’m far removed from all that now, with my kid and all. But the game’s still the game. Product, muscle, and territory. If you trying to get back into that, link up with the Tall Man, Slim.” Early Boyd paused to give Eggy some time to react, but he was still busy taking in the Westside situation. “IF, that’s your thing. Tall Man’s still holding it down in the Brix, holding court outside of the 201 building most days. The M.O.B. ain’t got sh!t in Acter no more, though. Nothing north of Hardtack. Not even the last Franklin tower. Tall Man got all the connections, but just enough muscle to keep the Brix. Not enough team to hold onto anything outside of the ‘jects in West Tudor.”

“Damn, homie. That’s all I really cared about. All I know is the M.O.B. and Westside. And just hearing all that….Anyways, I’ma talk to the Tall Man tomorrow, just to get back in touch. Cheers, to every soldier that ain’t here no more.” They toasted and proceeded to get drunk and lively, in celebration of Eggy’s homecoming

After a few festive refills, the conversation somberly made its way to other reputable M.O.B.sters. “So who’s still around?” Eggy asked, knowing that the answer was going to be disappointing.

“Not many M.O.B.sters, that’s for sure. Tall Man, CCO, Roc Roc, Peanut, that’s about it. Oh, and Moe been back for a quick minute. They’re busy most the time in the Brix. Rico, Tank, Stink, Country, Tater, they’re all gone, and you know the Mayor, Bey, Bird, and Perry all got long stretches ahead of them. As for the rest of the M.O.B.sters locked up, you know who’s coming out as well as I do. Brandon’s in the wind. Peacock too, I hear that he’s in Northwood now. A few turned to the needle. The lucky ones, like me and Big Guy, are walking around with some lead floating around our system. Maybe that’s how we learned our lessons.” Early Boyd’s roll call of missing, fallen, and captured soldiers went hand-in-hand with the weakened state of the M.O.B., and the Westside situation seemed even bleaker as he continued to speak. “James, you know he been dead, but his little brother got dropped too. Also Brandon’s. Even Donnie and Butchie, and they were out the mix for a while, but Black threw them right back into the middle of everything. That’s why Big Guy’s back there running things.”

“Butchie got touched? Wow…And Black Donnie?” So many names and events were whizzing by Eggy that he could not even begin to properly lament the fate of his fellow M.O.B.sters. A fate that they were well aware of, given their lifestyle, but nonetheless consistently dodging. “Donnie was right, the M.O.B. is cursed.”

“Sheeeeit, I don’t know about all that, but everybody can get touched. Old heads out the game, and even some legendaries. As a M.O.B. figure you already know String’s gone, but even the Terror was dropped by a Krazy-a$s young’n. Like I said, this new generation…” It became evident that Early Boyd was becoming more and more disillusioned with Westside’s narco-criminal developments as he spoke. It was rare that Early Boyd called for this much attention when he spoke, but he needed to relate to someone about these events as much as Eggy needed to get updated on them. It didn’t seem to improve when he began reflecting on the Westside Acter and Berchem’s other civic developments.

“You cruise the old hood yet?” Eggy shook his head. “Babbage was already kinda nice when you went away. Now it’s way too nice for any action to be happening. Same with everything above Kemeny. That goes for Berchem in general, except for maybe in the Heights where Kintel’s mob is set up. Your old block is still intact at least, but the rest of Schneider…” Early Boyd was referring to the row of townhomes on the western end of Schneider, and the reform-driven changes to the surrounding city blocks. “The part you really gon’ trip at is how they erased the whole north end of Sinclair to make that new hospital. Decided to put some of that space all them vacants were taking up to ‘good use’. Schneider and Sinclair’s still a hot corner where all sorts of crews are beefing, just one less block for crews to hold onto. More convenient for them now, I guess, being that they get shot and the hospital’s right there.” This last bit of dry humor was lost on both Eggy and Early Boyd.

Eggy was once again in shock. While he did expect the world to keep on turning in his absence, he imagined that the physical landscape was a given and resistant to change. “So they swapped those vacants for a new hospital. I guess that makes sense, but what about the old hospital on Aspdin and Kemeny? Where the fiends all went when they were dropping like flies from all that good product we were moving round there.” He suppressed his more horrific memories about M.O.B. soldiers going in that hospital with gunshot wounds, wondering if they were going to die in there.

“The government used up that WHOLE block for a new government building. I mean, Rory Hooker and the government need some turf to do their dirt too, know what I mean? Didn’t think they’d hang the whole city out to dry, though, soldiers and citizens both.”

“Tore down. It's whatever, given that you were liable to either catch a slug or the bug being in the Vitullo Homes anyway. And what's left of Berners Block belongs to the bikers now.” The combination of alliteration and inebriation slowed down Early Boyd’s speech, helping him arrive at the next conclusion. “They tore down and redeveloped so much prime real estate that crews are all scrapping over the tiny patches of leftover land.”

“Damn man. And we thought that the police was the most powerful mob out here.”

“Nah homie, it’s the ones signing their checks.”

* * *

They staggered out of the bar still reveling from their reunion. As they walked south on Bear Street towards Early Boyd’s parked Emperor, they noticed a green figure lurking in the alleyway. They were very familiar with that alleyway, because it was where they went whenever they had to settle any bar disputes “out back”. They even used to hang out in those alleys as young troublemakers, before they were even in the game, and long before they could enter the bar.

Out of curiosity, they stared at the young man who wore a green sweatshirt, shoes, and bandana tied around his neck. He looked like a bizarre version of Eggy and Early Boyd when they were younger, but only a more ridiculous with his flamboyantly matching attire. They were by no means within each others’ breathing space, and Eggy and Early Boyd did not even break stride as they turned their heads around and continued their walk to the car. They would not have given him a second thought, but the young man noticed them gazing, which seemed to irk him. He stepped out of the alley onto the sidewalk, and addressed Eggy and Early Boyd.

“Old men lost or something?” The young man said in a disdainful manner as Eggy and Early Boyd were ten feet away and continuing to walk. Then, while raising his hands and making various shapes with his fingers, he went on. “Yeah, keep on walking! Grove Street Families reppin’, Rolling Heights Balla killer bay-buhhh!”

This last part prompted both of them to turn around and approach the young man. “You say something to me young’n?” Eggy replied as he walked back towards the young man, staring down the young man the whole time. Early maintained his silence, but was also visibly annoyed by the young man’s inflammatory statement. “’Cuz you the one that seems lost. Ain’t no Grove Street around here, and those heights over there be Park Heights, son.” Eggy was now right in the young man’s face, with Early Boyd crowding him off to the side. “Now you better get lost, before I lose my composure. Go watch some more fxking TV, with your Blarney-the-Dinosaur-looking a$s.”

“You know what?” The young man said in response to Eggy, along with a sudden movement of his right arm.

“He’s reaching!” Early Boyd exclaimed as he punched the young man in the face as a reaction. The young man staggered and his gun slid five feet away from them all. Both Eggy and Early Boyd saw it, but kept on severely beating the young man down to the ground. The young man tried at first to deter their blows and fight back. Realizing this was futile, he soon opted for the fetal position trying to guard his head and stomach. “Dumb muthafxka! Grab him, grab him.”

Eggy grabbed the young man, who was already beat into submission, but not to the point of unconsciousness, and propped him up for Early Boyd to take a few more shots. Then, Eggy started dragging him by his arm and bandana into the privacy of the alleyway, the bandana cutting off just enough air flow to prevent any retaliation. Early Boyd went over to the gun to pick it up and examine it. It was a small .38 caliber revolver, which Early Boyd opened up to make sure it was loaded. Eggy threw the young man against the wall, and squatted down to make sure that the young man could hear every word he was saying.

“Now listen here, young’n,” Eggy started, slapping the young man to get his full attention. Early Boyd menacingly pointed the gun at his head, to reiterate their supremacy in this situation. “You really think that little trey-eight of yours was gonna do any damage? I’ve been messing with guns since you were on your mama’s tit. Now my man right behind me wants to put a cap right in that domepiece of yours, you know that right?” This sentence converted the young man’s expression from pain to fear, as he glanced quickly at Early Boyd, then back to Eggy. “You know what you’re only saving grace is? I JUST got out the pen. Now listen to this part real closely. If I didn’t just get out of the pen, your a$s would be leaking all over the place, I promise you that. But I don’t need any of that noise…right now. So don’t you EVER let me see you around here again, cuz tomorrow, you might not be so lucky.” Eggy got up, gave him one last kick. “And watch what you say to your elders.” He said for emphasis while pointing at the young man’s face.

Eggy started walking away, and then Early Boyd followed, waiting a few steps before lowering the gun and putting it under his waistband. They walked to Early Boyd’s car at the end of the block. Once they got in, they felt it was appropriate to discuss the situation.

“Families, Ballas, what the hell is wrong with this new generation? Is that what you were trying to tell me earlier?” Eggy asked.

“Not even. Really though, that clown a$s muthafxka was nothing. Wait til you see what these little home-bred terrors are like”

Anyway, I thought this was really good. It introduces two zany funsters and has good flow from a talky bit at the beginning which leads into some nice characters. Grammar was pretty good all ‘round, although consider.

One problem I had was that the two main characters’ names are bit too similar. John and Jason does get mixed up easily and it wouldn’t have hurt to have something a little different.

QUOTE

"Too early for a brawl at the diner" Jason exercises his knowledge, "must be a vehicle theft."

If Jason is exercising his knowledge, why is the next line:

QUOTE

"You sound real funny when you say vehicle." John yet again chooses to ignore Jason's observations

Obviously, if Jason is talking in the first paragraph, why is he insulting John's English in the next paragraph when he didn't say anything. I have a feeling that it was supposed to be John exercising his knowledge. Just something I noticed.

Keep it up!

rated by AceRay

Ah, a bit of misinterpretation there. I must of messed up somewhere. Because it was supposed to be John insulting Jason on his strong Chinese accent. Here's a clear version just in case:

Jason: "Too early for a brawl at the diner" Jason exercises his knowledge, "must be a vehicle theft".John: "You sound real funny when you say vehicle." John yet again chooses to ignore Jason's observations.

AceRay

And now, the continuation of the Pavano stories, 7 months (!) after the last one.

Chapter 11: All Chained UpAs I entered the Superstar Café, I notice how warm and inviting it was. It was cosy and atmospheric in the room, with a friendly waitress handing me my coffee. I turn around and see the girl next to a window. Kristi sat there reading a book with one hand and twiddling a USB stick in the other. Long flowing hair rolled down her shoulders and her light red lips twisted as she breathed. She looked down on the book with small spectacles perched on her nose and a delightful smile on her face. I could tell she was a journalist by the way she acted, although they don’t last long in this town.

“Excuse me miss, are you Kristi Whitman” I could see the photos in her handbag, if only she could move so I could slip them out. She turned to me and answered with a resounding “yes?”

“Uh, hi, I’m…” thinking of a name, I took a quick look around “…Jake Napkin, pleased to meet you.”

“Why, hello there,” she says, giving a small smile showing a neat set of teeth.

“I see you’re reading A Sinister Dream, it’s a good book, no?”

“Oh yes, it’s such a gripping read. The way the main protagonist slowly loses his grip of his life and falls deeper into his inner-darkness and further from redemption is very engaging…” I lose myself in her eyes, how they sparkle and how she got so engaged. In that moment, I wanted her. I wanted her legs wrapped around me like rope. Sadly, as I had tragically learned, things never work out the way you planned.

Suddenly, three thugs wearing Lost biker jackets burst through the door. One of them was holding a giant chain in his hands and was swinging it round and round, anger boiling on his face. His head was as smooth as a baby’s bottom, if that baby had been smoking joints and been beaten up for its whole life. It was none other than Krogman Seth, the biker without a brain. This dumbass was trying to revive the Lost biker gang’s presence in Liberty City but with little between the ears, it would take years for him to do that without getting struck down by the Angels.

“Hey, its that b*tch who wrote that anti-biker article in them papers,” shouted one of them in a gruff accent. How they knew it was her I’ll never know, maybe they had a thug daily paper that was not going well.

“F*ck right it is!” screamed Krogman in rage, who then ran over to us and rose his arm, ready to strike down with the chain. Kristi screamed and cowered before them, a tear rolling down her face.

“Whoa, hold the phone!” he stopped and stared at me, stunned that someone denied him. “Think for a second here, if you beat this woman, the Lost will become hardcore criminals in the eyes of the police and they’ll come down hard. You wouldn’t be able to smell your own sh*t once they’re done with you,” Krogman stood confused for a second.

It obviously didn’t get through to his thick skull as his goons grabbed me, causing him to laugh and smash Kristi’s head with the chain, her giving a small yelp in response. I looked over and saw that her head had been smashed so hard it turned into a spikey, red pineapple. The chain was dripping with blood and the bastard gave a sinister grin. Here I was again, standing over the body of another dead girl I had failed to protect and that old familiar feeling came back to me.

“You son of a b*tch!” And with that, I broke free of their grip and punched him so hard that he went flying backwards. I elbowed a goon in the chest who fell over and turned to the other one who had brandished a knife in the process. He tried to slash my face but I dodged it and poked both his eyes. A yellow puss came oozing out his eyes as the goon reached up with his hands and covered them, crying like a baby. The one on the floor jumped up and tried to grapple me but I twisted his arm and broke it, the bone tearing through his leather jacket. As he screamed, I smashed his ribcage, giving a nice crunch, before throwing him at the counter, cracking his spine like paper. The now-blind one was flailing his arms like a chicken, two bloody holes where his eye should be. I leapt up and dragon kicked him through the window, the glass shredding his body.

Suddenly, I felt a large thump on my back and I go down, pain running through my veins. “You’re going to pay for that boy,” whispered Krogman as I turned round to see him about to whack me in the face with the chain and turn me into a smoothie. I dodge numerous blows, rolling around the floor. Krogman throws in a couple of kicks, hurting like hell. Then he lets the chain dangle there and I grab it, pulling myself up with it. We both tug at the chain, Krogman barking like a dog when I manage to pull it over his chubby neck and tighten it, choking him. I throw the other side over the chandelier and pull it, making the biker rise above on his metal noose. He lets out some coughs before going limp like a ragdoll, extinguishing any hopes that the Lost coming back any time soon.

Jesus, this was like a bad Mortal Kombat set. I hadn’t seen this much blood since the cookie incident with the Gambetti family last year. I almost feel like throwing up when I turned to Kristi’s corpse. Maybe I didn’t deserve to live after letting that innocent woman die. But the easy way out never came, so I just keep on going. I pull the photos out of her handbag and stumble out, getting out of sight the moment I hear sirens approaching.

Linki

Bloody entertaining reading you mustered up there, AceRay. Max Payne references were timed well and didn't feel out of place. Good descriptions. I knew where I was and what was going on. Got pretty brutal in some of the describing you did in the fighting parts. Nice.

There were some grammatical issues and some of the dialogue felt unconventional and out of place in the reality of such a situation. But they're not really a problem, honestly. We're not publishing for Time magazine. This is for fun, and it was fun to read.

AceRay

Bloody entertaining reading you mustered up there, AceRay. Max Payne references were timed well and didn't feel out of place. Good descriptions. I knew where I was and what was going on. Got pretty brutal in some of the describing you did in the fighting parts. Nice.

There were some grammatical issues and some of the dialogue felt unconventional and out of place in the reality of such a situation. But they're not really a problem, honestly. We're not publishing for Time magazine. This is for fun, and it was fun to read.

Yeah I have to admit that I've been to write this one for a while but couldn't really find something I was interested in because the original idea was kind of lame. Then I just started writing and the biker thing came in and it was much more fun to write. It just really sucks when you get to a chapter you don't want to do. The best thing to do is to just stick it out and write it until you just have fun with the idea. Oh, and lots of violence too. But the next one's going to be much tamer. Can't wait for Aragond to read this.

And yeah, Gil is slowly turning into Max Payne now that I think about it but I've got a real good plot coming up involving Emilio which will definitely... raise some eyebrows about Gil's morality and motives.

Don Giovanni

I'm gonna start writing for the Petrovic Bratva and The Lost, consider my stories for the Triads and the Law dead in the water....

I haven't written in almost a year, so forgive me if I'm a little rusty in my writing abilities.

The Petrovic Bratva: Cabaret Club

Chapter 1

Liberty City, the land of opportunity. HA! It's more of the same as my old life in Russia, crime and corruption everywhere. Only difference is that Liberty City is somewhat warmer. I came here as a child, my father wanted a better life for us. And quite frankly, he failed. Eventually, he fell into debts to an Albanian loan shark and ended up floating in Broker Bay. I would swear revenge, and the Petrovic Bratva gave it to me. They saved my life and killed the man who murdered my father, but that came with a price. Rather than die or fall into debt, I decided to work as one of Kenny Petrovic's soldiers.

My name is Pyotr, I'm a 26-year old bouncer at the Perestroika Club and a small-time enforcer for the Bratva. Today is just another day for me, it seems...

The Perestroika is a nice place, well-decorated with red carpet and gold decorations, a real classy joint. The bar serves nice fancy cocktail drinks, along with wine and spirits, again, a real classy joint. Not like that seedy dive Comrades, which coincidentally, is also Petrovic territory. It seems all of Broker is under Kenny Petrovic's thumb. And I'm just a small cog in the machine.

I was sitting at a booth table in Perestroika, sipping a small glass of straight vodka with ice, with my fiance Gelya, and my business partner Nicholai. Gelya was a cutie, with pale ivory skin, flowing jet black hair, sparkling blue-green eyes, a curvy figure, and a sweet chirpy voice. We were engaged to be married, and hopefully, when my debt of servitude had been paid, we could leave Broker and truly enjoy America.

Nicholai, on the other hand, was a gruff middle-aged man with graying hair and a weary demeanor, who always dressed plainly. He was my superior, and I had to do his bidding. I was but a mere soldier, he was a Vory v Zakone, a high ranking captain who answered directly to the Pakhan himself. He spotted me at the club with Gelya, and I knew he had some business for me to take care of....

"Comrade Pyotr, I have a job for you. It is a simple job, surveillance. We suspect that those two-bit gangbangers known as M.O.B are dealing meth and pills to local immigrants and Petrovic is pissed. However, we have no hard evidence and as such, don't want to get into a war so soon. There is a small convenience store in the Firefly Projects area that I'd like you to bug with cameras and wiretaps, as we suspect that place is where they're distributing their drugs. I have a crew who will help you. Meet them at the Clothing Store, they will set you up with equipment and assistance."

I didn't want to do this, but I knew I had no choice.

"Da, I will do so."

Kissing Gelya before I got up, I finished my sole glass of vodka and headed out into the parking lot. I didn't feel drunk, only slightly buzzed, but I still didn't want to risk driving. So I decided to gently walk down to the Russian Clothing Store, hoping that Petrovic would see my debt repaid and that I wouldn't be permanently drafted into his gang.

But deep in the pit of my heart, I knew it was already too late for that.

Build Up Your Gang

StoneHead37 Albanian Mob| ??? | Chapter 1$39 + $0 = $39You know what? This has an excellent opening! I really loved, it drew me into the story and the atmosphere is thick and dense, dark and gloomy. Comparing mobsters to owls was genious. Loved this line: The Albanians bear affinity with the likes of owls; hushed during the day, but boisterous at night. Bravo sir, bravo. The story leads onto a good cliffhanger ending which has me wondering what was going to happen next. (Funnily enough, Ace at one point had a character called Jetmir who was going to die. XD

Grammar is really good too just with few spelling mistakes: meager should be meagre . Nice to see someone use speech properly too.

That said, I felt things got a little repetitive once we got to Arben. Paragraphs 5 through to 10 all start with the word Arben and got too same-y. You’ll definitely need to add some variety to your sentence structure to avoid this, like, not starting each sentence with the same word. I felt that if you had added a couple more hundred words to stretch this out it would have been better, cause 559 words is too short. I think it could have used a bit more characterization with some of the characters and also that Betim and Beznik are really similar names to use. Overall, it needs a bit of revision and expansion but a good piece nonetheless. I’ll also need to know what property you’ll be using.

bufu7690 Albanian Mob| ??? | Prologue(wtf, how long is this thing?)$43 + $0 = $43Nvkjlbvjkxcbkjla sd;jaf;ldshfasdl jfjhsadjfhlashdqweaz…Sorry, that was just my jaw hitting the keyboard when I saw the length of this beast. 3320 words! I mean, wow, what an effort, one of the biggest stories we’ve had. Good job on length and I’m glad to say it was great for a first time effort!

Anyway, you’ve got some problems with dialogue. Once again, it’s not: making sure he familiar with Westside .” He spokeIt’s actually: making sure he familiar with Westside ,” he spokeThe sentence always ends in a comma before the punctuation mark. Also, unless “he” is the character’s name, don’t capitalize it (which caused some confusion for me because I couldn’t tell whether the “the” in The Big Guy was part of his name, it switches around a while). Furthermore, there were a few spelling mistakes here and there and punctuation marks which were out of place which can be rectified with some checking. Oh yeah, and you only change paragraph with dialogue if a different character is talking.

Onto the story! It’s got good language features; characters act and behave like real people and its overall a really good piece of writing. The opening paragraphs do a really good job at setting a scene, introducing characters etc .Don’t be afraid of having paragraphs which are only dialogue and of short length. This Eggy guy is real interesting too, just out of prison and angry at the system. Some lines were great like “For familiar eyes, however, the light illuminated his enlightened expression, making it evident that he had recently been actively reducing the worries in his life.” That was a great line that makes the reader figure out that Early Boyd has been out of action. Good job of showing, not telling. Loved the scene where Eggy is overwhelmed by how things have changed, nice way of showing how out of touch he’s been. When we get to the fight scene outside, the action is fluid and alive. Really loved Eggy’s roar at the kid about how much he sucks, it was awesome. You’ve got talent.

The fact that you had me interested for such a long length is noteworthy. Can’t wait for more!

I thought this story was rushed. It goes through events faster than the speed of light. The first paragraph of 114 words speeds through the protagonist’s childhood, dad falling into debt, getting killed and joining the Russian Mob. We don’t get any real emotions in this passage and it’s too much to focus on in such a short space of time. Instead of revealing Pyotr’s (cool name btw) history right at the start, why not drip feed his backstory to the reader in the snippets of information, leading to a more interesting read and character. Try to write more out of less.

This piece also fell victim to the symptoms of telling the reader information instead of showing them. Pyotr just telling the reader who he is in the second paragraph shouldn’t be there, instead dripping the reader info about him in the following chapters, it makes me much more interested in who this character is. The way Nikolai tells Pyotr about his job sounds stilted and robotic. Would a gruff, tough mobster say “I have a crew who will help you. Meet them at the Clothing Store, they will set you up with equipment and assistance.” wouldn’t he say something more meaty and rough, like “My boys are down at that store, you know, the one which sells the hobo clothes. They’ll give you the high tech sh*t you’ll need. Try spicing up your dialogue and don’t be so matter of fact.There were some good sentences like I'm just a small cog in the machine. but it was, overall, an underwhelming effort. I also didn’t know the Russian Mob were the CSI.

As you said, you’re a little rusty so hopefully you’ll be able to get back into the swing of things. This kind of read more like a prologue to introduce characters so I’m sure you’ll do well with Chapter 2. If you could make an interesting relationship between the protagonist and Gelya, that would be an interesting storyline.

AceRay

And now, the continuing story of Max Payne! I mean Max Payne. Sorry, what I mean is Max Payne *slap* Gil Capazzo. I get mixed up sometimes.

Chapter 12: In My Restless Dreams, I See That Town

Light filtered through the window onto the apartment, the afternoon sun soaking the scenery in warmth as I sat and waited for Maybelle and Raul. I picked up the tea and pushed it towards my lips, smiling casually as I wondered where they were. I imagined them having lunch in Middle Park, eating croissants and sipping cappuccinos. Still, what was taking them so long?

I whipped out my phone but then I remember. Dead people can’t answer phone calls. I collapse onto the ground, shaking. Sometimes I repress that terrible memory and forget but then it all comes crashing back down in a whirl of reality. That horrible memory soon comes flushing back.

Waves crashed against the hull of the boat, making it rock in the terrible storm. Water splashes onto the boat as men run around shouting orders and directions every second, trying to control her in the harsh storm. Clouds bellow in the sky as lightning flashes and thunder roars every few seconds. Maybelle was clutching Raul in her arms closely, being battered by vicious wind and torrential rain. She stumbled and buckled under the rain, the boat bouncing up and down in a sickening.

“C’mon!” I shout to her, moving forwards to the door quickly.

“It’s too wet. Let’s go back,” I was in a rush to get back to our cabin and didn’t hear her. I wanted them to be safe. When I get to the hall, I smile slightly at the success. We could see the hall from the doorway, we were almost there.

Suddenly, there’s a loud crash and a scream. The side of the boat is smashed and Maybelle and Raul are nowhere to be seen. Running over, I stare into the dark ocean, screaming their names repetitively but to no avail. It sent shivers down my spine to think of their slow, gradual death, water gapping through their lungs, icy water surrounding them, freezing them. All I remember was staring into the cold, dark, unforgiving sea, tears dripping into the ocean.

Slowly returning to reality, I find myself curled up in a ball on the floor, getting dirt on my eyes. I wonder round the apartment. The false delusions fall down and the house reveals itself to be a wreck. Beer bottles litter the floor and the wallpaper was peeling back to I had only thought it looked nice because I wanted it to look nice. I had blocked out that memory and immersed myself in a deluded fantasy where they were still around; loving me for the honest business man I was back then, not the vile crook I had become. Hours pass of just wandering and crying. Occasionally I picked up something and throw it, smashing it into pieces as I screamed in rage. Finally, I stumbled into the bathroom, looking at myself in the mirror, what I had become. A 40 year old loser with greasy short hair, a filth-ridden, clichéd leather jacket and grubby camo slacks. Suddenly, a voice whispers behind me.

“You killed me,” I turn around and see Maybelle, standing there in the dripping wet coat she wore that night and a hollow look on her face and a sledgehammer in her hand. A screaming baby shrieks out inside my mind, bringing me to my knees. Tears swell in my eyes as the incessant noise kept twirled around my head. Everything in the room was swirling and twisting, distorting into the horrible dirty shapes.

“I’m sorry!” I scream out over and over, clutching my hands over my ears, trying to block out the screaming. Maybelle slowly walked towards me and as she got closer, I could see that she had two gaping holes where her eyes should be. Grasping the sledge hammer, she lifted it high above.

“You know it’s not true!” she screamed, letting out an insane laugh and revealing a set of jagged spiky teeth. She brought the hammer down onto me and immediately, I’m set on fire, burning in bright flames. I don’t know why but Maybelle then disintegrates and morphs into a thousand beetles which all scatter along the floor, into the floor boards and all over me. In pain, I dash into the lounge, the baby’s wails still shouting while the beetles and flames encase me. Finally, I collapse onto the couch, flames turning me into ash.

---

When I come back to, I’m lying on my back on the floor, my collar covered in sick. Another hallucination, the ones I always forget about. Sighing, I turn to the clock beside me, it reading six o’clock. I was out for nine hours now, just lying and torturing myself in my mind. She always haunted my restless dreams.

Suddenly, the phone rang. I let out a wail and through a book at it, paranoid at the sound. Cautiously, I approach it and lift it up to my ear

“Hello?”

“Hey Gilly boy, it’s me, Edgar,” his voice rough and course. I could almost see him with his feet up at Marco’s, smoking a pipe and chuckling.

“Oh, hey… how’s it going man?”

“Not bad, not bad. Hey Gil, you don’t sound too good. I was going to get you to go round to Vito’s club, you know, the Anceloti guy. We met at the beach about a week ago, remember?”

“Yeah, I know, I know.”

“I could get these new boys, uh, Joyce and Murray,” some muffling comes through the phone. “Sorry, I meant Murphy. Murphy Punchinello. He tells the tallest tales, I tell you now,” a wave laughter swept through the phone. “Anyway, like I was saying, these are the guys Gator brought around to help out with our numbers, since Desmond bite the bullet and Axel turned into an asshole.”

The Gator. The Gator. Gator. Who was he again? Where did I hear that name before? It kept swinging round my mind, trying to remember who he was. My concentration was broken by the vomit stained on my collar, grabbing a spare shirt to put on.

“I was going to get you to go because you know where it is but you seem sick or something; don’t want to disturb you eh? You’ve done a lot for me boy and I appreciate it.”

“Nah, nah, it’s all good, I’ll pop down there soon,” I mumble out as I pulled a new shirt over my head, noting his sudden appraisal of my hard work. Edgar thanked me and hung up, leaving me alone and cold once again in my room. I picked up my jacket, wiped down my face. A cold chill shivered down my spine as I realized I was truly alone.

Linki

Woah. Some deep stuff you mustered up there, AceRay. Weird and depressing, very descriptive and almost uncomfortable to imagine the more ugly details. Not saying you should tone down on that - quite the opposite.

Eeeeeeesh. Four months. Oh, that's a bad look.I am, or at least I would like to be.I just haven't had a decent break of time in months. Years even.

I had ambitions of turning BUYG into something more.Heck, I still haven't even finished my "Rising" storyline.There was another seven chapters I'd outlined.And, hell, that was meant to be the prelude to the real storyline in Season II.

I guess we can accept that BUYG-IV is just waiting for V to be released (hell, *WHEN* was that again? Wasn't the first trailer, like, a year ago?!?!), because every time a new GTA is released, and a new BUYG is created, the old BUYG gets a bigger boost in numbers.So, all we gotta do is figure out when V is due. Oh. Okay....Seeyas in 2016!